Lake Erie
by sarramaks
Summary: As Hotch waits for Emily's arrival at Lake Erie, he considers their relationship and the ties that love can create. At what point is a relationship made or broken? Set post 100, with Hotch, Emily and Jack. Rated T for adult themes. Complete 14 March.
1. The Tides

_This is set post 100. It takes into account Haley's death, and builds on from the relationship Hotch and Emily have started in Calverville Point and Humanity – there are no spoilers for the fic that will come after Humanity. It has five chapters (although it was originally meant to be a one shot!) And you don't have to have read any of my previous fics for it to make sense._

_In order to say thank you to those who review, I have written a sixth chapter that I will send via PM or email to those who review each of the five chapters. It isn't the 'ending' to the story, but an add on, and is therefore not essential, so don't feel that you're being cheated out of the end if you don't review! You can review even if you don't have an account on fanfic._

_Anyway, I don't own Criminal Minds or the characters, so don't sue!_

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta :) _

**Lake Erie: Part One**

**The Tides**

"They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could the world go on? How could we ever get up off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it?"  
**- Jeanette Winterson**

The sounds of a sleeping child had soothed the atmosphere of a strange place, and now the night was his own in which to wait patiently for the delivery of morning. Through the large, single pane of glass he could see the tides of the lake creeping slowly over the sands of the beach, leaving the smallest of gifts as they trailed back.

The tide would return to take back the gifts and return them to its depths, unless small hands found the first, placing them in buckets and carrying them home; mementoes of a holiday that would one day be blurred by time.

The moon shone on the water, its reflection a pale silver sheet against the darkness of the lake. Hotch pulled his winter coat from the back of the wooden rocking chair and threw it over him, zipping it up tightly, and opening the back door .

The lake house was secure; if anyone tried to enter he would hear them, no city noise to mask anything that shouldn't be there. His paranoia had lessened as the months had fallen by, the distance between Haley's death now a million winding rivers away. Not that she was forgotten. Not that time had made what had happened any less bearable. But he had found ways in which to deal with the flotsam that had drifted, and sometimes thundered, in. Memories of her survived; some were golden; the days when Jack was a baby were hazy, but tinged with a precious metal. He recalled their courtship and early days of their marriage with the same cloudiness that he had a few years ago, and refused to polish those recollections with falsehoods. And then there were the more recent memories, the more painful ones, and he would not discard those either. Acceptance was needed, not just of her death, but of everything that had preceded it.

He heard his own footsteps on the sand, the only sound apart from the gentle lap of the waves. Crouching at the water's edge, he let his fingers trail in the water, feeling its winter coldness, the shock of it waking him. It was late, later than he knew it should be, but he needed to have some of the day that was left to himself. They'd left their new house, moved into just three weeks ago, at eight that morning, and he'd driven steadily to Lake Erie, stopping several times to break the boredom of travelling for Jack. They were here for the next week or ten days, enough time to explore their new vacation home, and for Hotch to make some much needed repairs, source some new furniture locally, and possibly paint the interior.

He shook his fingers dry, the cold night air nipping at them. A fish jumped a few metres in front of him, a slight splash echoing across the calm water. He stood up, feeling his knees creak with the action, the dampness and age combining to form a new melody of noises in his body.

A tree dipped its naked branches in the lake, its trunk bowed by weight and time. It would be a good tree to climb, to walk up its tilted body, and then dive into the depths in summer. Old leaves had collected in the water around the bases of its branches, and they bobbed quietly with the motion of the water. It was as if nature was returning belongings, passing lost things back to those who weeped. Or at least providing a token of comfort.

Emily was due to join them tomorrow, taking a plane from Washington, where she had been visiting her mother, to Erie Airport. She'd not wanted him to pick her up, preferring to get a cab and leave him and Jack to carry on with their chores, and he figured she wanted to surprise them too. It would be the second time she had been here, having spent a weekend at a small town half an hour away when he'd been deciding whether or not to make an offer for the place.

A wave broke against the weeping tree, its foam catching the moonlight. He heard an animal call followed by a rustle, and the place felt less isolated. But that was part of the reason he'd been so taken with it in the first place. It was somewhere sacrosanct, somewhere without the din of a city or a town, somewhere he could take Jack, and Emily if she wanted. Somewhere he could block out what they saw during their job, and remember why he did it in the first place. He had wondered whether he was turning into Gideon, a though that most perturbed him. However, his kitchen was too sparsely equipped to seriously compare them. Yet.

A darker object than the waves caught his eye as it floated back and forth with the current. He figured it was a large branch, or a bit of driftwood, but found he couldn't take his eyes from its rhythmic movements. It brought him peace, respite.

Tomorrow Emily would be there, her laughter and chatter filling the place as well as the log burning stove that was still ablaze. He hadn't thought too much about her on the way there, his son taking his time, as he was entitled. But now, now that he had the silence and time, his thoughts moved to Emily, and he realised that he missed her.

It was an odd emotion.

It had been more than a year since Calverville Point, more than a year since his team were targeted. More than a year since he and Emily had began something that neither had ever labelled. A lot had happened in that time. He turned his back on the lake and looked at the house. The wooden steps from the beach needed treating, pots and tubs needed to be arranged on the balcony, and there were a thousand other little things he could do. He looked forward to all of them.

A wave hurried along the shore, whispering as it passed over pebbles deposited by its ancestors. Hotch stopped as it crept up to his feet, wetting the soles of his shoes. In a few weeks there would be snow here, and the lake, being shallow, would freeze.

Faint yellow beams of light filled a window. Jack was young enough to still sleep with a night light, something to chase away the monsters. Its warmth was reassuring, and for a moment he gazed into it as it pushed away the chill of the breeze that was whispering.

There would not be a great deal of light, even during the day, at this time of year. The sky would be a distant light grey, and a mist would veil the lake in the mornings. Weak yellow from the sun would barely break through the clouds, just a shrouded shining orb in the sky, and there would still be silence, except for the slow rush of the waves and Jack's voice.

Hotch felt the warmth of the stove burn inside him. He had no intention of mapping out any future, never had. Who knew what the tide would bring, and what it would take away.

He walked across the pebbly sand and back up the steps into the house, leaving his sandy shoes under the porch. The fire was burning low, and he threw another piece of wood into it, stoking it to make the flames rise again. Tomorrow Emily would be here, and they would spend the evening sitting in front of it, discussing whatever topics fell into their minds. One would be her mother, he knew. The rest were left to fate.

The click of the kettle seemed loud in the almost silence, and he hoped it didn't disturb Jack's sleep. Wood crackled and spat on the fire, and he sat close to it on the wooden floor as he drank his coffee, sweet and black. He did not want to sleep yet. He wanted to sit here and listen. To let the tides rush over him. To enjoy the night.

* * *

_Please review!_

_The next chapter will be posted on Sunday!_

_Sarah x_


	2. Digesting

_Thank you for the reviews left for the first part. Part of the reason this fic will have sixth chapter, which I'll PM/email out to reviewers of all chapters is because I'm useless with review replies. I never know what to say!_

_Thank you to Kim, Sussi and the anonymous reviewer as well, and __**Chiroho**__ for the beta on this. Be warned, __**C, **__you're going to get the first one of the other later..._

**Lake Erie: Part II**

**Digesting**

"There are many forms of love and affection, some people can spend their whole lives together without knowing each other's names. Naming is a difficult and time-consuming process; it concerns essences, and it means power. But on the wild nights who can call you home? Only the one who knows your name."

**- Jeanette Winterson**

"Mom," Emily took the stairs two at a time. "Mom – the take-out's here." No answer came and Emily rolled her eyes, suppressing a groan of frustration. This had been the story so far of her relationship with her mother, a reversal of roles. "Mom..." she pushed open the study door, her eyes immediately going to the desk chair that was her mother's usual spot.

A finger paused over a set of lips where the lipstick always looked fresh, a phone to an ear. Emily threw a dramatic look of impatience and closed the door with a slightly louder bang that was sure to have made her mother jump -and hopefully gave the hint that she wanted to eat.

She made her way to the kitchen, which looked as unused as it was, and began to root through the box for the seaweed and soups that had just been delivered. She'd discovered on answering the door that the delivery boy hadn't needed to look up the address. He was a frequent visitor to her mom's Washington base, even though at first her mother had dismissed the idea of Chinese take-out as being 'too unhealthy'.

Emily took the lid off the hot and sour soup, and pulled a soup spoon out of the drawer where she knew the cutlery would be kept. Leaning against the kitchen counters, she began to eat, knowing that if she were to be polite and wait until her mother emerged from the phone call, the food could well be stone cold, and there was every possibility that she would be a collapsed heap, wasting away.

The polystyrene bowl was almost empty when the door finally swung open and Elizabeth Prentiss entered, still looking as fresh as she had done at the beginning to the day when they had gone for breakfast at an upmarket cafe, unimaginatively called 'Tiffany's'.

"You could have waited, Em," Elizabeth said. "Or at least taken that dry white out of the fridge and poured me a glass. There's gin in the cupboard too."

Emily put down the now empty bowl and let out a growl of frustration that she had perfected at the age of thirteen. "Don't try to tell me that you bought the gin specially, because I know you better than that," she said, finding the hi-ball glasses instantly.

Elizabeth gave an amused smile. "In that case I'll have a gin and tonic. But with lime, not lemon." She sat down at the table, twisting the chair so she could watch what Emily was doing. "You sure you want to leave tomorrow? I can get reservations for dinner tomorrow night at L'Oranger."

Emily unscrewed the gin and poured generous measures into the glasses. The tonic water was in the fridge, as was pre-cut lime. "You know I have a flight from Washington to Erie. I want to be there by mid-afternoon."

Her mother raised her eyebrows. "They can survive another day without you, Em. It's not often we get chance to catch up, and I'm off to Russia for six months next week."

Emily clutched hold of the glasses instead of dropping them. "And you were going to tell me this when?" she said, putting them down. She debated sitting down and continuing this discussion in a more serious manner, but the lure of the food was too strong. "Do you want your soup first?"

A frown played out on Elizabeth's face. "How do you stay so skinny when you eat so much?"

Emily crunched on a prawn cracker, punctuating her mother's question. "It's all the sex," she said. "Burns off calories."

Her mother laughed into her gin, shaking her head slightly. "Only you would tell your mother that! It's a good thing we don't have company. Anyway," she recovered. "Do you want to hear about Russia?"

Emily brought the food over along with a couple of plates and cutlery. "Whereabouts?"

"Moscow. You could come and see me; bring your boss and his son," Emily could tell that there was a pointed remark in there somewhere, but she chose to leave it alone for now.

She sat down, tipping seaweed onto her plate and using a fork and finger to get it into her mouth. "If we have a long enough break, then I might," she said. "Hotch might – but I can't speak for him. Besides, he has this lake house now, and I get the feeling he wants to spend as much time as he can there."

"Which means you'll be there too," Elizabeth said, sipping at the soup. "This is good."

"You say that like you're surprised. The delivery boy asked after you by first name," Emily looked across at her mother from over another fork full of seaweed.

"Do what I say, not as I do, Em. And Good food should always surprise you, even if you've had it before," Elizabeth said. "Besides, I've never been a good cook. How is Aaron?"

Emily chewed slowly, thinking. "He's fine. Glad of a break, like we all are."

"Okay, I'll rephrase my question. How are you and Aaron?"

The tone did not cover her curiosity, nor was it meant to. For all her tact and diplomacy, her mother had never used it on her daughter. Emily knew she saw it as unnecessary. They shouldn't need tact _or_ diplomacy; there should just be the truth. It was an understanding they had come to after Italy; after the abortion.

Her mother's reaction had shocked her. There was no blame, for Emily, herself, or for anyone else. Instead there had been support, and a realisation that Emily had grown up in more ways than one. She was the only child; her mother was not going to push her away, and instead a closeness had grown between them. Once, when Emily had been twenty-five and they had been celebrating her birthday on a cruise of the Norwegian Fjords, her mother had told her that she was proud of her, of how she'd handled the situation when she was fifteen, and how she'd still lived. There had never been any shame.

"We are..."

"If you say fine I shall eat your dinner as well as my own." The threat was a quick one, and made Emily smile.

"It's good."

"It's the longest relationship you've had. I'm not passing judgement, Em, just stating a fact," Elizabeth said, eating the soup with more relish and less grace than when she started.

"It's still not all that long, mom," Emily said. "We enjoy each other's company, we have a lot in common, and it just seems to work."

Elizabeth nodded. "He's a nice man," she said. "If a little serious."

"He's not like that all the time."

"I would hope not," the inflection gave away exactly what her mother was thinking.

Emily looked up at the ceiling and then away from her.

"How do you feel about him?"

This time her tone was serious, and it caught Emily by surprise. Her mother had never interfered in Emily's love life, because Emily had never interfered in hers. She'd realised when she'd come back early from college one summer, that her parents' marriage was not built on fidelity, on either side, but that neither of them saw it as being a problem. Affairs were neither long nor short in duration, and were always discreet. They cost nothing in terms of pain and respect, and they had maintained a solid stance that was more than superficial.

But Emily had never been able to understand it. She had never been one to have secrets, even open ones, and she had known early on that she preferred monogamy. Her nerdiness had always made it hard enough to get one boy at a time to date her, two seemed out of the question and unnecessary.

"Emily, I asked you a question," it was the best mother-tone Elizabeth possessed, and it was rare she used it.

Emily shrugged. "Do I need a name for it?" she said. "I know I can't consider the possibility of it ending."

"Because of your jobs?"

"No. It would have no bearing on the BAU. Neither of us is likely to go straight into another relationship if what we have ends. And, we're both professionals," Emily said. She felt worried, as if her mother had just released a deluge into her chest and stomach and she didn't know where it was coming from to stop it.

"And judging from the expression on your face, you feel an awful lot for him," Elizabeth said, opening the second box of seaweed. "Have you told him?"

Emily wondered why her mother hadn't become a profiler. "No. It's not something we talk about. He's been through a lot this year..."

"And so have you. You had to back off after Haley's death, and during the whole Foyet thing. Whenever I spoke to you and you were at your apartment, you sounded the saddest I'd ever heard. Lonely. And I'd not known that since you were fifteen," Elizabeth said, her fork pushing around the seaweed on her plate.

"You know, if you don't want to eat that, mom, I'll finish it for you," Emily said, hoping the offer would change the subject.

In response, Elizabeth ate a large forkful of the seaweed and glared at Emily.

"He's aware of what he was like during that time," Emily said. "We're passed that now."

"So tell him how you feel. What could happen? You move in together? Maybe share the shopping?" Elizabeth said.

"Mother, I don't think you're right person to give advice on relationships," Emily said, looking for an exit. "You and dad..."

She was interrupted again. "Have had a very good marriage for forty-four years. We both found someone similar to ourselves, and yes, we may be a little unconventional, but Em, we've never been out of love." Her mother eyed her mischievously. "Stop trying to evade my question."

Emily opened the box of crispy shredded beef. "Because I don't want things to change. Telling him how I feel gives him a responsibility towards me. He shouldn't have that. At the moment we have freedom; there are no chains or expectations. Yes, we spend a lot of time together, but there is no contract."

"And what makes you think that by telling him how you feel there will be?" Elizabeth sat back in her chair, the glass of gin now in her hand.

"Were you a shrink in a former life?" Emily said with half a laugh. "I don't know; I just worry there will be."

Her mother nodded. "You always tell the truth, Emily. I've never known you to be this restrained. Besides, don't you think he knows?"

"Then if he knows, I don't need to say it, do I?" she said, picking up her own glass. "It becomes a moot point."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Entirely the opposite, Em. If you don't say it, you're hiding something."

"Then so is he," Emily said, returning to her fork. She understood why the delivery boy knew her mother's name.

Nothing was said, but Emily could feel her mother's eyes staring at her with amusement, as if she didn't understand something that was completely obvious. It annoyed her immensely.

"Only because you are," Elizabeth said when the silence became almost too much to bear. "He has more to lose. Your rejection would hurt him on a different scale. He has his son to consider. He's also been in a serious relationship before that didn't work out. Aaron has a bigger wager here, Em. It needs to be you who shows the colour of your money first."

Emily looked at her, feeling almost seasick. She said nothing, letting her thoughts wander to the man who was miles away from her in distance, but close in every other respect.

"Anyway," Elizabeth said. "Let me tell you about Russia."

* * *

_I'm in a chatty mood. I know people in the past have portrayed Emily and her mother as not getting along, but I never got that impression from the episode when we saw Elizabeth. I thought the way Elizabeth referred to her as 'Em', and how Emily asked to 'go help her mother', showed that there was a positive dynamic between the two. So I guess this was my take._

_Anyhow, more on Tuesday._

_Please review – this is a very different chapter to the first part – it was meant to be! _

_Sarah x_


	3. Winter

_Thank you for the reviews! Remember: for those that review each chapter there will be a sixth part to this story sent to them. Consider it the fanfic form of chocolate brownies, without the calories!_

_Thank you to **Chiroho**!_

**Lake Erie Part III**

**Winter**

"For there is one thing I can safely say: that those bound by love must obey each other if they are to keep company long. Love will not be constrained by mastery; when mastery comes, the God of love at once beats his wings, and farewell -- he is gone. Love is a thing as free as any spirit; women naturally desire liberty, and not to be constrained like slaves; and so do men, if I shall tell the truth."

**- Chaucer**

The seat next to her was empty, the flight relatively unfilled with people and she was glad of the fact. The usual melee of a journey was not something she wanted right now, her mother's words still reverberating through her mind. They'd gone on to speak about Russia, and Elizabeth's six month's sojourn over there, and then briefly about people they knew; an upcoming divorce, a recent marriage, and a business that was teetering on the edge of collapse.

But her mother had left the subject of Hotch well alone after her initial enquiry. Enough on the matter had been said; enough to make Emily think, and that, Emily knew, had been her mother's intention. She hadn't stopped thinking since, and even her dreams had been filled with unsettling thoughts.

There had been the reoccurring nightmare, where she had been taken captive after trying to save a young girl by herself. Just at the point of death she'd heard Hotch's voice outside the door, and her heart had soared; he'd come to save her. Then his voice had disappeared, and she'd woken up, unharmed, but her mind reeling with questions. Why had he left?

She'd never shared the dream with him, preferring to deal with it on her own, as she did a lot of things. And maybe that was the point of the dream, the message being sent from her subconscious.

It was one of the things that scared her; losing that autonomy, her self-reliance.

"Miss Prentiss," the flight attendant approached her. "Can I get you a coffee?"

Emily smiled and nodded. The girl looked barely old enough to be out of school, the red lipstick appearing misplaced and the hair too tightly pulled back for such a young face, giving it look of severity that spoiled what would have been a natural prettiness. "Thank you." The hostess nodded and returned to her cart, Emily gazing back out of the window at the clouds beneath them.

Her mother's words had created anticipation within the pit of her stomach that wouldn't otherwise have been there. It had been four days since they had seen each other last, the morning that she'd packed to go spend time with Elizabeth. They were on stand down for two weeks, depending on any major cases being called in, and she'd felt loathe to leave him, as much as she wanted to see her mother. If it hadn't have been for the last night's conversation, she'd have been simply looking forward to seeing him, and Jack, again, but there was now the added ingredient of something that needed saying.

"Your coffee," her thoughts were interrupted by the girl with the red lips. "Can I get you anything else?"

Emily shook her head. "No thanks," she said, giving her a smile. "That's everything."

Then she was left to her own devices, her own thoughts. Visions of the lake house filled her mind; the waters of Lake Erie lapping over the smooth pebbles, soothing her too-fast heart beat.

* * *

The low mist clung to the surface of the lake, almost concealing the place where the water ended and the sky began. The ends of the tree's branches were blurred by the low cloud, its naked fingers dipping into the swirling grey.

Jack was fascinated by the weather, which had taken Hotch by surprise. There was almost a complete lack of colour; a blur of whites and greys and taupes, and everything was unmoving. There was nothing there that could captivate a child, or so Hotch had thought, but instead Jack had seen a world of fairies and magic, wanting to hear stories of mystical beings and enchantresses that Hotch had to make up as best he could. Fortunately, Jack was easily satisfied.

Mid-morning brought no shift in the mist, and Jack was now happily inside, clearly in view through the large glass window which looked out over the lake, playing with a wooden train set which Hotch had found when he and Emily had been here a couple of months ago. He was finishing his renovation of the steps and porch, pleased to find that all they needed was retreating, and he'd brought some quick drying varnish with him.

A duck quacked, the only noise around, and he looked up to see if he could spot it. It was there, a few feet out into the lake, a dark silhouette bobbing on the water. Hotch wondered whether it had become separated from the rest of its flock; duck were not solitary birds, and soon enough, another came along, diving alongside the first, looking for a late breakfast. He paused to watch, placing the brush down and resting against the now dry railing.

A pallid sun was visible overhead, but lacked the strength to break through the thick cloud. It seemed that the mist was there for the duration of the day, and although Hotch would have liked a clearer day so that Jack could look around, it wouldn't be too much of a hindrance, as once Emily arrived he intended on them eating, then going to look for furniture.

At the moment, there were just two beds and a rocking chair; the latter having been left by the previous owner, the former having been delivered in the past week, the helpful realtor having accepted delivery of them. He hadn't had time to purchase new bedding, so that was another thing on the list to get that day. The sleeping bags they had used last night were okay for a day or so, but he wanted it t feel more like home.

A tapping on the window made him turn round, and he saw Jack pointing toward the train track he'd set up by himself. Hotch grinned and gave him a thumbs up, with which Jack was satisfied, returning to his game. At first, after Haley's death, Hotch would have felt guilty for leaving Jack to play by himself, but as Jessie had told him, it was impossible for him to spend every second of his free time amusing him – he had other things to do, and carrying on a sense of guilt was not one of them. And it was good for Jack's imagination and creativity to play alone sometimes.

He picked up the brush once again and began the last of the treatment. It had dried quickly, and was already looking much better than at the start of the morning. It would need a second coat, but that could be done tomorrow. After Emily had arrived.

Craning his neck, he looked towards the gravel driveway that led from the main road, hearing an engine in the distance. Emily had taken a flight from Washington at nine, and should have landed by now. A taxi from the airport would take around forty minutes, so her arrival was imminent. There was a stirring in his chest at the thought of her, one that was more noticeable given the stillness of his surroundings. He knew he'd missed her, however distracted he'd tried to be.

The car drove past, the silence resuming, and he continued with his work, trying to focus on deft even strokes with the brush. But it didn't work; his mind wandered again to her. She'd met Jack before Haley's death; all the team had. Jack hadn't even mentioned it when Emily was around a little more than the others, until one day he'd asked if Emily was his girlfriend.

It was a question Hotch had been dreading; not because of the ramifications of the answer. Haley's funeral had been three or so months previously, and although he had in the first few weeks put his relationship with Emily on hold to a certain extent, she'd gradually been around even more than before, and that meant she'd been around Jack more too.

They hadn't discussed it. Maybe he was afraid of what her thoughts were. He was a single parent, he didn't just see his son for one night during the week or every other weekend, he was a permanent fixture. Continuing a relationship with him meant forming a different one with Jack than she'd had before.

It had just happened. When she'd stayed over, she'd made breakfast for the three of them; she'd suggested places to go on their days off that Jack would enjoy too, but at no point had she ever brought up her relationship with him.

Maybe there was nothing to be said; maybe if those words were uttered they would form a contract that would cause pain if broken, and neither wanted to make that vow. He understood it; he understood the commitment, the ties that bound were not easy ones to live with.

So when Jack had asked if Emily was his girlfriend, he'd replied in the affirmative. Jack had grinned and then looked sheepish. "I have a girlfriend too, Daddy," he'd said. "She's called Abby and she let me kiss her under the table at school."

Hotch had replied with a simple exclamation, not quite sure with how to deal with this latest revelation. He'd asked Jessie about it when she'd come to look after Jack for a few days while the team were on a case and she'd laughed. "He's going to have plenty of girlfriends," she'd said. "Get used to it."

Emily coming here was another step for them. Sometimes he wished he could be oblivious to such things, and not analyse them; but he analysed his own behaviour as his job demanded he know himself inside and out in order to know others. She would have thought about the vacation just as much as he had, and the implications it had. This was part of his life, this house by Lake Erie, which could have been just for him and his son. He and Emily could have stayed at arm's length, and their relationship could have continued like that for years to come.

He was lost in thought, only briefly becoming aware of the sound of the idling engine. As he looked up almost unconsciously, he saw Emily, pulling along her large suitcase and carrying an oversized bag.

Hotch put down the brush and made his way down the steps to meet her. "Hey," he said quietly, feeling a little warmer than he had done before.

"Hey," she said, echoing him. "It's good to see you."

He nodded, taking her suitcase. "It's good to see you too." And it was. It really was.

* * *

_Please review!_

_Sarah x_


	4. Home

_Thank you for the reviews! _

_Big thanks to **Chiroho** for betaing!_

**Lake Erie Part IV**

**Winter**

"Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defence, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. It is the spot where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule."

**- Frederick W Robertson**

The oak dresser had been made from reclaimed wood, its maker giving it a plain, but antique appearance. The legs were sturdy, curved like a dancers; the feet without embellishment. It had been stained and treated already; the lightness of the wood forever darkened, matching the three part mirror that stood on top.

Emily ran her finger across the top of the dresser, feeling its smooth, polished surface. She had noticed it as soon as she had entered the back room of the workshop, leaving Hotch and Jack to look at dining and coffee tables. She knew Hotch would come looking for her soon, wanting her opinion, and she was loathe to give it. The lake house was his, and he should be the one choosing what furniture went there. So instead she'd become enchanted with something she could never have. Getting it back to her apartment would be out of the question, and she already had a similar dresser, in white, which matched everything.

Pulling out a drawer she imagined lining it with lavender scented paper, an old fashioned fragrance, but such a thing needed old fashioned. There was room in between the two sets of drawers for a padded stool, and for a moment she could imagine herself sitting there, in the morning, applying make-up and tidying her hair. She pushed the image from her mind and turned around.

"You really like that, don't you?"

Emily wondered how long Hotch had been standing there, watching her. The room was empty of people apart from them; even Jack was absent.

"Where's Jack?" she said, unable to subdue the crack of panic, even though she knew that Hotch would never let him be anything other than perfectly safe.

"He's on a rocking horse in the kid's furniture section. And I think I will have to buy it," he said, mock exasperation in his tone.

Emily smiled. "I saw those before. They're something," she said, her hand wandering back to the dresser.

"I will get that too, if you like?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No, no, Aaron. It wouldn't go with everything else," she said, a little too loudly, a little too hurriedly.

Their conversations could never run without a subtext. They were both profilers, and she knew that he could read every word that she didn't say, just as she could now read the hurt in his eyes that no one else would notice. She'd just rejected him, on more levels than refusing his offer to buy the dresser.

"Emily, it's the same wood and staining as the bedstead. That bedroom's massive, in case you haven't noticed, and I quite like the wardrobes that match it," he said, and she couldn't help but hear the note of sarcasm in some of his words.

She looked at floor, cursing herself and her gift for ruining things. "It's rather girly for what will be a boys' retreat," she said, glancing up at him. They were standing a good few feet apart, and she may as well be pushing him further away with every syllable.

Silence reigned, laced with discomfort for a few moments. "I'll just take the wardrobes then," he said, leaving her standing, still with a hand on the dresser, as he went to examine them.

Her mother's words rang like a passing bell through her head, and she left the room without glancing at Hotch. Jack was still on the rocking horse, an appaloosa with a shiny mane. An elderly woman looked on, watching him with a smile in her eyes.

"Your son was excited when his daddy said it would be being delivered later," the woman said. "He's a sweet boy."

Emily nodded and smiled, unable to recreate the warmth in her own eyes. The mistake had been before, that Jack was hers, and neither she nor Jack had ever corrected the speaker. There seemed to be no point; it wasn't a story for strangers.

"You okay there, Jack?" she said, stepping over to him. "Have you given him a name yet?"

Jack shot her a grin, and she saw Hotch there. "I'm going to call him Dave," Jack said, pulling at the mane gently.

"Why Dave?" Emily said, the tumult inside of her stilled momentarily.

"Because Daddy said that Dave sometimes takes him for a ride, so now I can take Dave for a ride," Jack said, making the horse rock once more.

Emily raised her eyebrows, trying not to laugh. This would be a story to text JJ with later, and Morgan, and Reid. And maybe Rossi.

"What have you chosen for the house, Emmy?" Jack said. He'd started to call her Emmy a few weeks ago, when a girl from London called Emily had joined his class. She didn't like to have her name shortened, apparently, so Jack had decided the best way to make sure no one got mixed up with who he was taking about was to change her name instead.

"I haven't chosen anything, Jack," she said simply. "I'm leaving it up to your Daddy."

Jack nodded, back to being consumed by the rocking horse, and looking as if he was now pretending to be a cowboy given his exclamations. She feigned interest in an oak sideboard, still berating herself for her words. Did she want to force that commitment on Hotch? He'd seemed to be offering it.

She looked up at Jack, who was now leaning forward and whispering something in the horse's ear. She took out her phone and switched on the camera, turning it to video mode, and began to film him. The picture would be blurry, but it would capture some of the moment.

She'd just put her phone away when Hotch emerged. He gave her a quick glance before rubbing Jack's head and speaking quietly with the old woman. A payment was made, followed by a brief nod, and then he picked Jack up off the rocking horse, telling him it would be coming home in a matter of hours and that they had to go chose a sofa and chairs.

"You ready to leave?" he said to Emily, putting Jack down just in front of her.

She nodded. "Aaron – I'm sorry about what I said..."

"Don't be." He silenced her quickly. "We'll talk later. The woman recommended somewhere local that sold sofas. It's just a couple of miles away. You can come with us, or I can drop you back at the cabin."

His words cut her like a sharp piece of glass, and she knew that the hurt had registered on her face. "No, I'd like to come and see the sofas," she said, almost desperately.

He nodded, opening the car door for Jack. Emily leant in and helped him get into his booster seat, buckling him up. Jack was smiling, unaware of the tension between herself and his father. "I can't wait to get the horsey," he said. "Is he going in my room, Daddy?"

"I'm not sure yet," Hotch said, starting the engine. "Probably."

Emily stared out of the window, watching the lake in the distance as it ebbed and flowed, grey mist clinging to it for dear life. She turned her head and looked at Hotch, moving a hand onto his thigh. He didn't move it away, but neither did he acknowledge its presence.

The mist swirled inside her, and as she looked out of the window she forced back tears, and words, trying to focus on Jack's happy chatter about the lady of the lake and a horse called Dave.

* * *

_Don't forget to review! To those of you who don't have a fanfic account I will have a think about how to get the calorie free chapter to you and post details in the last chapter which will be up Sunday._

_Hope you enjoyed…_

_Sarah x_


	5. Purple

_Thank you for the reviews. I haven't had chance to write review replies, however, I will be sending the sixth chapter to everyone who has reviewed all five chapters as soon as I get chance. If I haven't sent it you a couple of days after your review for this chapter then pm or email me._

_If you're not a fanfic member then please pop your email address in the name bit when you review, not in the review itself as fanfic will wipe it; or encrypt it, eg, martin at yahoo dot com. Kim, I will send you the chapter via LJ._

_**When the Blue of the Night **__may be a little delayed. I have a rather huge interview on Wednesday for a management position at a special needs school. Not sure if I want it as I love where I am now, but I'm already nervous. I can't write when I'm preoccupied with something, and I also need to plan an observed lesson and a presentation. Argh! The first chapter of Blue is a recap chapter – I'll aim to put it up on Thursday, then the first proper chapter will go up Sunday._

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta, and for betaing the extra chapter as well._

**Lake Erie Part V**

**Purple**

"Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home."

**- Edith Sitwell**

The sofa he chose was a deep red, a warm and comforting colour, the same shade as a good merlot. It was made on site, a small shop just south of Pitodrie, where they had been to buy the wooden furniture, and the last chair in the suite had just been finished. They could deliver tomorrow, which was an unexpected surprise, given he thought he'd have been waiting until after Christmas for something to sit on in front of the fire.

Hotch glanced at Emily who had picked up Jack, pointing to a bird of prey that was circling overhead, telling him stories that he was sure she was making up, and doing a better job than he had earlier. She was upset because of what she had said, and because of his quiet reaction, but he didn't want guilt to be the reason she made her mind up over anything. He didn't want her to be a visitor at the lake house, although he'd never said that to her, not wanting to impose his own feelings on her. He wanted it to be hers as well as his and Jack's.

But did she want that?

He'd made an assumption and acted on it. Given Emily's temperament, she'd have told him an answer before four-thirty that afternoon, that was if he wasn't screwed, to use one of her adjectives.

"Am I allowed to jump on the sofa?" Jack said, pointing at it as Emily carried him past.

Hotch saw her giving him a quick glance, and then she whispered something into Jack's ear that made him giggle and squirm out of her grasp. He smiled at her, feeling the muscles in his face soften. Maybe he should have confessed how he felt a long time ago, but he'd always thought she knew.

They stopped at a local farm stand on the way back, picking up vegetables and meat, plus some local wine. The shores of the lake were spotted with vineyards, the climate ideal for grape growing. Hotch had received an hour's lecture from Rossi after he'd told him the location of his new retreat, and now felt as if he knew everything there was about winemaking in that area. Emily was still quiet with him, her eyes glancing his way every now and again, but she seemed to be sharing her words with only Jack.

When they returned to the lake house, she'd retreated immediately to the kitchen, preparing the vegetables and meat for a stew, leaving Hotch to decide where he wanted his purchases to go. When he looked around the doorway into the kitchen, he saw her staring out of the window onto the overgrown garden.

"Em," he said. "You think you can leave those for a second? I'd like your opinion." She turned around and gave him a watery smile. He quavered inside briefly, wishing he could be objective enough to read her mind, but right now he couldn't.

He led the way to the master bedroom, the large, oak-framed bed piled with the bedding that had just been purchased. He'd have liked to have washed it first, but buying a washing machine and a tumble dryer were on tomorrow's list. "Where do you think the wardrobes should go?"

She looked at him, raising her eyebrows. "Wardrobes as in plural?"

He nodded. "And the big chest of drawers."

She turned around, a three hundred and sixty degree circle. "I'd put one wardrobe in each corner. If you put them together it might be a bit overwhelming. The drawers I'd put under the side window."

He looked at her, holding his breath, and then gulping it down. "What about the dresser?"

Emily opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. Twice. He figured that was a good thing; she hadn't walked out or yelled at him yet. Then she sat on the unmade bed.

He didn't move towards her. "I'm sorry if I did the wrong thing. I saw that you liked it, and I liked it as well. I'm not trying to chain you to us with a piece of furniture, but I want you to feel that this is your place too." He could have told her that when he saw her looking into the mirror he'd been reminded of that first time he'd watched her put on her make-up, back in Utah, that first morning together.

She crossed her legs on the bed and looked up at him, doe-eyed. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted in the furniture store," she said. "I hurt your feelings, and I didn't mean to. I was trying to not interfere – I didn't want to presume that this place was for anyone other than you and Jack."

His feet echoed as they crossed the floorboards to her. He sat down next to her on the bed, pushing the bedding to one side. "I guess I should have discussed this with you, instead of assuming that the message had been conveyed in ways other than words. This place was meant to be for you as well, if you wanted it to be. That's why I asked you to come here with me when I came to make an offer." He watched her reaction.

Emily nodded. "I don't want to bind you," she said. "I don't want you to have to take decisions you don't want because of me."

"What if that's what I want to do?" he said. "What if I don't mind putting myself second on the rare occasions I need to if it makes you happy?"

He saw her bite her lip, and knew she was holding back tears. He would have liked to have put an arm around her, to have drawn her into his chest, but he knew that would have made her feel worse, and the tears would definitely have come.

"You know, you were there for me, whenever I've needed it. You're there for Jack – you never complain about having him around, and unless you don't want to continue that - and I could perfectly understand why – then I want this place to be as much yours as it is mine." He kept his voice low and quiet, not wanting to draw his son's attention.

"You need those purple patterned curtains in here," she said, not looking at him. "And the matching comforter. There were two thick woollen rugs as well, that would match and stop the floor from being as cold..."

He now moved his arm, pulling her close and smelling her perfume. It had the same effect on him that it always did. "Okay. I can go with the purple. But you're paying."

She smiled, closing her eyes, nuzzling his neck. "Happy to."

He shifted his position, enabling him to move her hair off her face and kiss her. It deepened quickly, the tension of the day abated by the touch, the feel of her skin against his.

They broke away without speaking, both knowing that any longer and they were likely to find themselves in a position whereby they wouldn't want Jack to be coming in. It could be saved for later. "You go finish the vegetables," she said, her lips stung red, her eyes dark and bright. The caveman feeling he got sometimes hit him then, it was he who'd done that to her. "I'll make the bed."

It was then he really noticed the colour of the bedding; it was a deep plum, the same as the curtains and the rugs. He stood, eyeing her curiously. "Did you know I'd bought the dresser?" he said.

She laughed, her fingers smoothing down the pillowcase she was now holding. "I thought we might be going back for it. Did you order the matching stool?"

He raised his eyebrows. "The one with the purple seat? I did. Funny how you encouraged me to get these." He pointed to the bedding.

Her eyes filled again, and he wondered at the meaning behind the tears this time.

"I love you." She said it simply, with enough heat to warm the lake after it had frozen.

Hotch nodded, knowing how difficult the words were to say, to even contemplate saying. Now was not the time for him to echo them, for they shouldn't be echoed.

He moved back to her and kissed her once more; pushing back urges to christen the bed right there and then. "I'll go finish dinner. If the furniture arrives, can you show them where to put everything?"

She nodded, standing up with him, and beginning to make their bed.

* * *

She wondered what they would do when the sofa and chairs did arrive.

It was late, almost midnight, but that didn't matter because there was no set time for them to get up the following day. Things needed to be done around the place, and more furnishings needed to be purchased, but there was no team meeting pressing, no alarm to wake them, apart from Jack, and no work to worry about.

Emily took another sip of the wine and rested her head back against Hotch's chest. He was leaning against the new coffee table, facing the wood burning stove, and she was sitting between his legs, listening to the stillness of their surroundings.

"Are we going to get a television?" she said, the wine making her a little light headed.

"I don't think so. It'll do Jack good to rely on his imagination and toys instead. I might get a record player instead," he said, his tone deadpan.

She turned to be able to see his face, smiling broadly. "Are you serious?" He nodded. "Aaron!" She drew out the two syllables of his name. "Enter the twenty first century. Get a docking station for your iPod – or my iPod at least!"

She felt his laugh come from his chest as she settled back down. His hand was resting on her stomach, under her shirt. It made her feel small and feminine, the size of his palm almost covering it.

"What else do you intend to make me buy?" he said. "I know we need kitchen utensils."

"Pictures," she said. "We need pictures. I saw flyers today for a couple of local galleries. It would be nice to have something of the lake. We need cushions and throws too." The novelty of saying 'we' had not yet worn off, and she wasn't sure when it would. If it would.

"I agree," he said, then she felt his lips on her neck and she put the wine glass down, out of the way of the new hearth rug. "Are you happy?" she heard him say, a quiet murmur that almost blended in with a rush of the waves.

They were lying face to face on the rug, the fire warming her back. "Uh-huh," she said, her hands undoing the buttons of his shirt. Jack was fast asleep; he was highly unlikely to wake, so there was no reason why his father couldn't lose a few layers. "You've made me very happy today."

"All by buying you that dresser," he said. She found her sweater being pulled up and over her head. "Anyone else would say you were cheap, Emily Prentiss."

She kept her laughter quiet, her fingers tracing her name across his chest. He pulled her closer, an arm around her back, the other propping up his head, mirroring hers. She felt her bra loosen and rolled her eyes at him. "I saw the price of that dresser, Aaron, and I know I'm not cheap." She paused, studying his face. He looked satisfied, and she understood. "Are _you_ happy?"

He was quiet for longer than she wanted, his eyes trailing across her face as his hands worked their way across her back, across her body. "Yes," he said eventually. "How could I not be right now?"

* * *

She woke cold, just as the faintest light starting to creep in from uncurtained windows. Realising she was alone she stood up, noticing that the fire had gone out. They'd fallen asleep on the rug, sex and the warmth a lethal combination of soporifics.

Hotch stood at the window in just his jeans. She joined him, pulling his shirt around her. "We should go to bed," she said, the half light of late night glowing on the waves. "Jack will be up and bouncing in a couple of hours – if we're lucky."

She saw him smile, casting another look across the lake before turning to her. "I love you," he said. "And I'm not saying those words because you did. I'm saying them because I want to."

"Like I did," she said. He nodded. They understood.

Neither moved, still watching the lake, quiet in its greyness, the water teeming with life beneath the surface.

"You know," she said, the cold temperature having wakened her. "We could just have coffee."

"And then what?" he said, mild trepidation in his question.

"Clean the kitchen; unpack some clothes; walk to the farm down the road in an hour or so for some eggs for breakfast..." she looked up at him, her eyes dancing.

"Let's discuss it in bed," he said. "Where it's warm."

"But we're not going back to sleep..."

"I know that..." She followed him to the bedroom, the sight of the dresser greeting her as they pushed open the door, memories already ingrained in its wood.

* * *

_Thank you all for reading and responding to this – I hope you enjoy the extra chapter – in which Emily may be slightly OOC as she takes Hotch shopping... I may well do the same – extra scenes – and send them to the reviewers of Blue, when it is posted. Let me know what you think._

_Thanks for reading!_

_A very stressed Sarah x_


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